


Russian Roulette

by edy



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, M/M, Mental Instability, Obsession, Past Suicide Attempt, Sexual Assault, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-25
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-15 20:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Russian Roulette isn't the same without a gun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> inspiration: "pokerface" by lady gaga
> 
> -
> 
> i'll update when i'm able. please be patient.

My arms are above my head as I slowly sway my hips to the beat of the pop song blasting from Mikey Way's stereo. "I wanna roll with him—a hard pair we will be. A little gambling is fun when you're with me," I sing loudly.

A loud clap of thunder vibrates through the house, and the lights flicker. The music only disappears for a second or two before it starts back again.

The others in the room scream the next line in the song. "I love it!"

We all laugh, and I start swaying my hips again. "Russian Roulette is not the same without a gun, and, baby, when it's love, if it's not rough, it isn't fun."

Thunder rolls again, and we all freeze, hearing a series of loud footsteps thudding up the stairs toward Mikey's room. As expected, a fist starts pounding into the door. "Turn that Goddamn music off!" I'm pretty sure a foot comes in contact with the wood before the thudding on the staircase starts up again. I hear a harsh "God! Fucking Lady Gaga!" being breathed out by the man that had just punched the door.

Mikey sighs and rolls off his bed, going over to his stereo, turning off the music. I frown and glance over at my other friends—Ray Toro and Bob Bryar. I watch as Bob looks over at the door, rolling his eyes. "Your brother's an asshole, Mikey."

Ray speaks up his agreement as I bounce back into a sitting position on the bed. "Why's he even here?" I ask. "You don't need a babysitter while your parents are out." Ray and Bob nod with me, the same question on their minds.

Mikey sighs, shaking his head as he pushes his glasses up his nose with a knuckle. "He's not my babysitter." He goes back to his bed, plopping down beside Ray and in front of me. "He still lives here."

All our mouths simultaneously drop, and we take turns expressing our surprise.

"Does he go to school… or have any friends?"

"How old is he? Doesn't he have a life?"

"Lazy ass."

Mikey sighs, shaking his head again. "No school, no friends, no life, and he's nineteen."

We all shake our heads in disbelief. "I thought he was an artist," I say, looking up at Mikey. Thunder shakes the house.

Mikey shrugs and falls back on the bed, stretching. "He is. He just hasn't done much with it."

We sit in silence for a few seconds before a crack of thunder snaps, and the lights shut off.

"Nobody make any sudden movements," I hear Bob say to the left of me.

"Why not?" Ray whispers.

"I hear something downstairs."

"It's probably just rain," Mikey reasons. "Power'll come back on. Let's just chill for a couple hours."

I slowly nod in agreement and fall back on the bed. The other two follow suit. I turn my head toward the window, seeing lightning outside. I freeze, hearing a soft padding downstairs along with a few laughs. I reach over and latch my hand onto Bob's. I squeeze it, mumbling his name.

"Do you hear it, too?" he asks, turning his head to look down at me. I lock my gaze with his blue eyes. I nod and tightly close my eyes when I hear even more laughter—louder this time—someone barking, and a low voice saying, "Come back here."

Bob turns to Mikey to say something, but he is cut off. "Oh, that's Gerard."

"Why does he do that?" Ray questions, looking at Mikey's bedroom door, finally hearing the noises, like the rest of us.

"He always does this when it rains." Mikey says this so casually that it scares me, and I roll over on my stomach, hiding my face in the comforter.

Dozens of loud slams come from downstairs, along with Gerard screaming.

Bob shivers by my side. "Dude, your brother is creeping me out." Ray and I nod for back up.

"You'll get used to it," Mikey says, waving a hand.

Gerard starts growling and tossing things around, screaming profane words at the top of his lungs.

"How come he never acted like this when we came over before?" I tear my gaze away from the bedroom door to focus on Mikey.

Mikey shrugs. "You never come over when it rained, and he usually stays in his room."

It doesn't take any of us that long until one of us inquires the main question that surrounds the older Way brother, and Ray has enough courage to ask it. "Does he have anything wrong with him, like… mentally?"

Mikey pauses. "We don't know."

We absorb this and stay silent, listening to the rain and the adult barking.

"There's something seriously wrong with him," Bob murmurs. I nod beside him.

I can feel all of us tense up when we hear the noises downstairs cease and low, spread-out footsteps travel up each step toward Mikey's room. I cringe and cower against Bob, who holds me tightly.

Then, the footsteps stop, and I can see a faint outline under the crack of the door. Lightning fills the room, and thunder cracks just as Mikey's bedroom door flings open, revealing the lanky figure of Gerard Way.

"Wanna play a game?" comes his high-pitched voice. I glance over at him, trying to see him through the dark, since I haven't really seen him before, but I can't make out anything on him.

Mikey loudly sighs. "What do you want, Gerard?" He turns his had to look over at him.

He is bouncing on the balls of his feet, occasionally bumping his shoulders against each side of the door frame. "Play a game with me," he says.

"No, Gerard," Mikey says.

Gerard stops jumping. "Huh?"

Mikey points at the door. "Go. Get out of my room."

I watch Gerard's fingers twitch, and his hand attaches to the door frame. I can hear him breathe, and he growls out, "Why?"

Mikey frowns. "I don't like you in here. You're always covered in an unknown substance, and you always want to touch all my shit."

I see Gerard raise a hand to his mouth, slipping a couple fingers in, biting them. "It's not unknown," he says, still gnawing at his fingers. "I taste iron." I hear slurping.

Mikey sighs, shaking his head. "Just go away, Gerard."

He yells, and I jump when he smashes his forehead against the wall. "No!"

"Yes! Go!"

Gerard shakes his head, screeching like a banshee. "No, no, no, no, no!" He starts toward the bed, his footsteps loud and vibrating the whole house. "You're gonna play with me!" He grabs at Mikey's wrist, and then pulls him off the bed. He pushes him to the floor. He moves onto Ray next, and I hear him squirm and comment on how his hands are damp, how he smells like blood. He joins Mikey on the floor, and Gerard kicks both of them. "My bedroom! Go, go, go!" They run out of the room, and then Gerard turns to Bob and me. "Wanna play with me?"

Bob and I have a race to see who can make it away from the freak the fastest. I lose. I stumble off the bed, land on my chest, and when I raise to be on all fours, I feel Gerard jump on me, causing me to fall against the floor again. I groan, feeling his arms snake around my waist from behind. His mouth presses against my ear, and his hip bones dig into my ass.

I let out a cry, and he laughs. It's short, dry, and high. I can smell iron and cigarettes on his breath. "You're so pretty," he whispers in my ear, his hands rubbing my stomach, going up to my chest. "I want to wrap you up and display you like a fucking Barbie doll!" He laughs again.

"Dude, get off him," Bob says to the right of me. I look over at him, watching as he tries to push Gerard off me, but he's unsuccessful.

Gerard screams, almost breaking my eardrum. "Go to my room!" he says, ripping his hand away from my chest and smacking Bob against the cheek. The slap is hard, and I know it's going to bruise.

Bob doesn't argue with him anymore. He gets up and runs out of the room, leaving me alone with Gerard.

He engulfs me again, setting his mouth back on my ear, his hands back on my chest. "I sent him away, sugar. Now, we can be alone," he whispers.

I squirm. "Get off."

He continues to mutter. "I set up candles around the house. I don't want you to trip and hurt your pretty face." His hand trails down my stomach. I feel a couple of his fingers dig into my skinny jeans.

I jump. "Stop." I try to buck him off, but he has me pinned down pretty well.

"You're so pretty—pretty, pretty, pretty." His hand goes lower, and I start moving around, whining, trying to get him to stop touching me. "I don't even know your name, but you're really pretty—beautiful, even." His fingers wrap around my dick, squeezing it, giving it a slow pump. I lurch forward and whine. "I wanna put a ring on your finger," he says, licking the inside of my ear, pinching at the tip of my length. "I wanna adopt babies with you." He claws at it now, his chewed up nails dragging against it, making me want to cry.

I whimper and close my eyes tightly. "If you're trying to give me a handjob, it's a pretty shitty attempt."

He growls and pulls away from me. "Don't say that!" He shakes his head, nibbling his lip. "I never gave one before," he hisses.

I raise up, sitting back on the heels of my feet, glaring at Gerard. "That gives you no right to throw yourself at me." I take in his features. They're soft. His cheekbones stick out. Black hair hovers around his face. It's greasy and hanging down at his shoulders in stringy patches. His eyes are big, hazel, and coated in a mess of black eyeliner. Overall, he's disgusting, needs to take a shower, but decent-looking in my book.

He screws his eyes shut and starts muttering things under his breath. His hands go up to his head, and he starts pulling out his hair from the back. I see strands of red in between his fingers. I shake my head at him, frowning. His eyes suddenly open, and he looks over at me. "Wanna play a game with me?" he asks, his eyes doubling in size.

I want to protest, but he attaches to my wrist, curling his fingers around the slender bone. "Play a game, play a game," he says, getting up from the floor and dragging me out of Mikey's bedroom and down the stairs. "Play a game, play a game."

I glance around once we hit the bottom step and start walking into the kitchen and living room area. Everything is out of place, and it looks like he had let the floor get flooded with rain water. The bottoms of my socks are getting wet. I curl my toes.

He also had set candles around everywhere, and surprisingly, he hadn't set them in any dangerous places that could be flammable. I pause to glance around. I catch the smell of blood in the air, but he drags me deeper into the house, saying "play a game, play a game."

Gerard pulls me over to a door and kicks it open, a frown growing on his face. "No, no, no!" he says, stomping down the stairs.

I bite my lip and follow him down into the basement.


	2. Chapter 2

Unlike the rest of the house, this room hardly smells like blood. It, instead, has a heavy trace of nail polish in the air, mixed with the sickening scent of dog piss and cigarette smoke. I start to wonder if he even knows about air fresheners or Febreeze, for that matter.

I carefully descend the stairs, hearing each stair creak. Once I reach the bottom step, my feet sink into velvet carpet, and I glance around the room, spotting each of the guys' faces. They all read a form of terror. I nibble on my lip and drop down beside Ray on the opposite end of the room, across from the bed, where the older Way brother is sitting, a French bulldog in his lap. His pale face drops when he sees where I choose to sit. I lower my head, not wanting to look at him.

"Sit in front of me," he demands. As if right on cue, the dog barks, and thunder cracks. I crawl over to the bed, plopping down in front of it, in between Mikey and Bob. I close my eyes, hearing him sigh. "Isn't this nice?" he starts. "It's raining, we're surrounded by candles, and we're with all our friends."

We stay silent, even if we want to disagree with him.

I hear the dog lick at something. Mikey looks up at Gerard. "Where'd you get the dog?" he asks.

"Susan Michelle."

"Whatever. Where'd you get it?"

"Her name is Su—"

" _I fucking know, Gerard._ Tell me where you got the damn dog."

Gerard is silent, and this frightens me. I hear the animal bark, and I see it jump off the bed and start climbing up the stairs. "You made her leave," Gerard whispers.

"That isn't even our dog, Gerard. It's someone else's," Mikey says, narrowing his eyes.

"She's mine."

"Gerard, no—"

"Mine."

"It has a collar on it."

"Mine."

Mikey shakes his head, getting up from the floor. "Whatever you say. I'm going back up to my room." He turns to leave, but Gerard jumps off the bed, pushing Mikey back to the ground.

"No. We're playing a game."

"Dude, why can't you just let us go? We don't want to play your dumbass game," Bob groans, lazily rolling his head around on his shoulders.

"I'll have to agree," Ray says.

I nod and look up at Gerard. He's frowning, eyes wide. "We're playing a game." He starts over to his dresser, to the left of me. I see him pull out something metal. The shiny surface reflects off the candle light. I swallow. "Have you guys ever played Russian Roulette?" he asks, and his tone sends chills down my spine.

We shake our heads, and I watch as he drops something into the object he got out a few minutes earlier. I hear spinning, and when he turns around, he shows us a revolver, a smile on his face. "Five of us." He glances between us, the smile growing even sicker. "Only one bullet." He waves the handgun. "Four will live. One will die." He walks across the room, getting up onto his bed, sitting right behind me. I feel him pull at a couple black hairs on my fringe, and then at the short blond ones on the sides. I curse, say "fuck off", and swat his hand away.

Gerard seems to pause, and he raises the gun to his temple. He taps at the trigger. "The object of this game is, well, _don't die_. We go around in a circle, putting the gun to our heads and pulling the trigger. If you don't get shot, you pass it to the next person. If you get shot, the game is over." Gerard glances at us. "Got it?"

"So, basically, if we die, it's going to be called suicide, right? We killed ourselves?" Ray asks softly.

Gerard nods. "Yep! Fun, right?!"

I hear Bob whine. He tugs on his lip ring. "I'm only fifteen. I don't wanna die."

"Let's just hope you don't get shot, then," Gerard, up on the bed, purrs.

"When did you get a gun?" Mikey asks nervously, dropping his gaze to his hands. "Does Mom and Dad know?"

"Nope! And I had this gun forever! Now, let's begin." Gerard puts the gun back to his temple and pulls the trigger.

Silence.

Gerard reaches out, gun in hand, and I think he's going to give it to me, so when I go up to take it, he smacks my hand with it and tosses it to Bob. Bob holds the gun in two hands, looking down at it as if it were his life he's holding in his hands, and he's about to blow it away. Nervously, Bob puts the gun to his head, tightly closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and pulls the trigger.

Silence.

Bob drops the gun, letting loose a deep breath. "Here, here." He pushes it over to Ray, guiding his legs to his chest, shaking.

Gerard laughs at him. "Why are you like this, Bob?" he asks, laughter still in his voice.

Bob glares at him, and then turns to watch Ray guide the gun to his temple. He closes his eyes, pulling the trigger.

Silence.

Ray moves the gun over to Mikey now. Mikey isn't nearly as shaken as the others, but I can tell he's still traumatized. When Mikey takes the revolver next, it looks like he's breaking inside. I can only imagine what must be going through his head.

_My brother has a gun._

_Was he planning to kill all of us?_

_Was he going to commit suicide?_

I shake my head, lowering my gaze, not wanting to watch the younger Way brother if he does end up shooting himself.

I shut my eyes and wait for it, but when I feel the gun bump against my knee, a sense of overwhelming panic bubbles inside. I open my eyes, looking at each of my friends. They all share the same look of terror. I swallow, pick up the revolver, studying it.

Four live, while one dies. Four of them have already tried, and they failed, so that must mean…

I roughly swallow. I'm going to cry.

I raise the gun, putting it against my temple. I take slow deep breaths as I pull the trigger.

Two hands clap over my ears, and then I start to shake. "Got you!" someone screams in my ear.

I jump, drop the gun, and launch myself across the room, landing in Ray's lap. I cling onto his neck, shaking, panic and adrenaline pulsing through my veins.

I hear the psychopath on the bed loudly laugh.

Anger flares up inside me.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" I yell, getting up from Ray's lap and starting over to Gerard. "You fucking scared the shit outta me! Why did you do that?!"

He freezes, his eyes wide. "It's just a game," he says in a quiet voice.

"Just a game," I repeat with a frown. I pounce on the bed, hovering above Gerard. "What were you thinking?!" I yell at him. My hands go up to his shirt, clenching at the front in two fists. "Do you honestly think this is funny?! We could've all died! You probably think death is just fucking hilarious, don't you?!"

Arms wrap around my stomach, pulling me away from Gerard. "Dude, Frank, calm down," I hear Bob say from behind me. "You're making him cry."

I stand on my own feet, looking ahead at the creep on the bed. Bob's right.

Gerard has his hands to his chest, his fingers clinging into the fabric I was gripping. His eyes are looking at the ceiling. He's trembling, and I can see he's having difficulty breathing.

Mikey gets up from the floor, touching my arm. "We gotta go… now."

Ray's the first to leave. Mikey grabs the gun before following Ray. Bob links our arms together, pulling me up the creaky steps, seeing how I wasn't moving. "Come on," he mutters. "We can play some normal games up in Mikey's room."

I absentmindedly nod, my eyes still set on Gerard. "I'm sorry," I tell him. I watch his face turn red, and then he starts screaming. I flinch, and Bob quickly drags me up the stairs. We pass by Susan Michelle on our way out.

She nips at my ankles, digging her small, sharp teeth into the skin.

She screeches.

I form a headache.


	3. Chapter 3

"I have to take a piss," I declare to no one in particular. I don't get a response, but that's expected, since everyone has already fallen asleep.

I groan and slowly raise up from the bed, taking a quick glance around the room. I'm in Mikey's bed with him beside me, curled up in a ball, holding a pillow to his chest. Ray's passed out by the bookshelf. It looks like he had tried to read a book in the dark, but then gave up and fell asleep. Bob is acting like a total badass, just chilling in the farthest corner of the room with the hood of his jacket pulled over his head.

I sigh to myself and pull my legs over the edge of the bed, setting my bare feet on the carpet. I had ditched my socks once we all went back to Mikey's room. They were so fucking wet that we just threw them out the window, watching them catch a wind and fly off to somewhere. Bob said they were going to Narnia or some shit.

I lift myself off the bed and shuffle across the floor, my bladder ready to explode. I grab the doorknob and slip outside, instantly getting a whiff of Starbuck's coffee. I furrow my brow, do my best not to question it, and quietly head toward the bathroom. I don't want to upset a certain someone who had a fucking spazz attack when I yelled at them.

I remember the power's still out when I ram into the bathroom doorway with my shoulder and attempt to turn on the light. So, I piss in the dark with the door still open. I'll admit, I'm a bit scared to shut the door. There aren't any candles to speak of in here, and there's just enough light in the hallway, so why not? Nobody's gonna walk by anyway. They're all asleep.

Although, that smell of caffeine is getting closer.

I think nothing of it as I fix myself and zip up my pants. I reach out to flush the toilet, but I freeze when I hear something, and that something just happens to be a dog fiercely panting and a certain someone talking to it, telling it that everything was going to be okay or something to that effect.

My eyes double in size, recognizing that voice. I bounce on my heels and flap my arms like a bird trying to fly before ducking into the shower and bath combo, thankful the curtain is already pulled shut. I shrink back against a corner, closing my eyes, putting my hands over my mouth. I try not to breathe so hard. I sit down and pull my legs to my chest. I can feel something wet start to pool around my feet, and all I can think of is _shit, I just sat in a fucking water puddle_. I try to get comfortable. The smell of coffee consumes me, and the bathroom door slowly creaks open even more. My breath hitches in my throat.

"It's gonna be okay, Susan. Here, I'll put you on the counter. Now, let me look at your paw, baby girl."

I close my eyes. I hear a dog whining.

"I'll get some gauze and wipe it around your paw, okay? I think you sprained it."

The dog yawns.

I hear a medicine cabinet open, then someone starts digging through it. Bottles of pills fall onto the floor.

"Here it is!" The voice is too cheerful.

I roll my eyes and duck my head, slowly opening my eyes. I relax just a bit, letting the smell of wet dog, coffee, and blood overwhelm me until they left.

Wait a second. Blood?

I slowly blink and lower one of my hands to the bottom of the tub, letting my fingertips graze across the puddle I'm sitting in. It's a lot thicker than water, and it smells. I slowly raise my hand and gaze at my fingers with wide eyes.

They're covered in the red substance.

The worst part of all this is that I can't hear the freak anymore—not even his dog. And I get really scared.

I just watch in complete horror as a drop of the liquid moves onto the lower part of my finger pad and slowly fall back into the puddle it belongs to.

I hear it _drip_.

I jump back just as the shower curtain is pushed off to the side. I look up into the eyes of Gerard. I bite down on my finger and try to find a way out of the bathtub without letting him touch him, but I'm too late. He reaches over, grabs me by the hair, lifts me up, and then pulls me out of the tub. He wraps his arms underneath my armpits and starts dragging me out of the bathroom, down the stairs, into his room.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I kick out, trying to get my feet caught on something, anything, but it won't help. I'm already in his room. The smell of dog piss, cigarette smoke, and nail polish is gone and is replaced by blood and coffee. I start to feel dizzy. I grow weak, and I get thrown onto his bed. I bounce on the mattress for a bit before lying still. I look up at Gerard with even bigger eyes than before. I don't know what to say. He's probably angry at me. He shouldn't be! I apologized! Doesn't he know anything about the saying "forgive and forget"?

He raises up a hand.

I shut my eyes and cringe to prepare for the worst.

Instead of a vicious beating, I hear slurping, like someone would if they were sucking something from a cup that's almost empty. I open my eyes.

Gerard's sitting in front of me, shoulders low, holding a Starbuck's coffee cup with one hand. He slurps on the drink some more before pulling back and letting out a low, raspy "hey".

I narrow my eyes. "Hey." I slowly sit up, trying to get a better look at Gerard, but he gets off his bed and walks over to his desk, flipping on a small lamp. "I thought the power was out."

He chews on the straw. "Batteries."

"Ah."

He walks back over to the bed, sitting down in the same position he was in before. He continues gnawing at the piece of plastic.

I stare at him before lowering my head, looking down at my hand, and I was right. The substance staining a few of my fingertips is blood. I quickly stuff my hands in between my legs. I don't want to look at them. I see a foot enter my field of vision. It jabs me in the knee with electric-blue nails. "What?" I spit out.

"Where's my gun?"

I shrug. "I dunno. Mikey took it somewhere." I keep my head lowered, focusing on the _Star Wars_ bed sheets. I'm about to say something else, but I'm interrupted by the foot poking me in the knee again. "What?" I ask, frustrated.

"Can you tell Mikey to give it back?"

"No, fuck off. I'm going back upstairs." I attempt to get off the bed, and I succeed, but I end up falling on my face instead with Gerard on my back. I spoke too soon.

"You're not going anywhere," he growls in my ear.

I claw at the carpet, not wanting to have another repeat of what happened earlier. "Get off me. Seriously. What's your problem? Why do you even want the gun back, you sick fuck?" I hope I hurt his feelings.

His mouth presses against my ear as he mutters into it. "No, I will not get off you. Seriously. My problem is that I'm a young adult that has just a tiny bit of social anxiety. And I want my gun back, so I can fucking _kill myself_." He grabs my shoulders with large hands and pushes me onto my back. I look into his eyes, frowning. He frowns back. "I've already tried to kill myself once tonight, and it didn't work out that well, then, you guys showed up, and I had to get you guys off my back somehow, so I played a small game of Russian Roulette with you, but did it make you four go away? _No_." He ducks his head down and presses his forehead against mine. His voice goes down to a whisper. "You see that blood on your fingers? That's my blood." He raises an arm and shows it to me. There are small deep cuts everywhere on it. He glances at them before setting his arm back above my head. "I just want to end it the surest way, so I can finally leave this planet because I damn well know I won't be missed."

I look at him, and I feel… empty. I feel terrible. I don't know what to tell him. He's… alone, and I can't help but to feel sorry for his freak.

I lift a hand and press it against his shoulder, gripping at his shirt. I glance down at it, staring at the printing. I see the word "sternum". I grin and look back up at him. "Your shirt's pretty cool."

A smile lights up his face, but it only sticks for a second or two before it is replaced by a frown. "Thanks, I guess."

"Can I go back to Mikey's room now?" I ask, reaching up and pushing a strand of my fringe from my forehead.

"Sure, yeah." He gets off me and goes to crawl on his bed. He grabs at one of his pillows and bites at it, tears at it. I hear fabric rip.

Normally, I would stand up, shoot him a weird look, and then go back to my friends, slip into bed, and fall into a deep sleep while listening to the rain, but something else happened, and I don't know what overcame me.

I pounce on his bed like an animal and lunge at him, knocking him down onto his back. I lie on top of him and attack his mouth with my own, pushing lips against one another, forcing tongues down each other's throats.

Unskilled hands from both of us work at each other's heads, pulling out strands of different colored hair, tugging at clothing like they're suffocating us. My knee bumps against his crotch, and we both let out a soft _mm_ sound that sends jolts down our bodies.

We hold each other close as we move around on the bed, pushing shit off that's in our way. I end up kicking him in the leg when I get my foot caught in a sheet. He groans out in both pleasure and pain and roughly pushes me against the headboard. I reach out behind me and grab onto the metal railing, lifting myself up for just a moment to move my legs around his waist, pressing my groin against his belly. He grabs onto my sides, pulling me away from the headboard and rolling us off the bed.

We make an odd sound that resembles a cat that just jumped off a high ledge, but that doesn't stop us. We move around on the floor, managing to bump against his desk. He picks me up, setting me on top of it and slides his hands underneath my t-shirt, pinching at the skin. I wave my arms around, trying to grab onto something as I try to pull him up to join me with just my legs, and I end up knocking some books off along with his lamp. I hear the bulb bust, and that's when we break apart.

I can hear him breathe, and I see his mouth is red and starting to bruise. He turns his head to stare at him, eyes wide. "Wow."

I poke his nose. "For being shitty at giving a handjob, you're actually a great kisser."

He gives me an awkward smile. "Thanks." He runs a hand through his messy hair. "We should do that again sometime."

It's my turn to give the goofy smile. "Too bad, though. You're going to kill yourself." I frown, and he does, too. I jump off the desk and start to walk through the dark, toward the way out.

"I don't think I will anymore," says Gerard. He's still breathing pretty heavily.

"Neat."

"But on one condition."

This can't be good. I lean up against the wall, light-headed. "What is it?"

I feel his hands on my face, lifting it up. He places a chaste kiss underneath my chin. "Be my boyfriend."

"Sure," I murmur, and I mean it.


	4. Chapter 4

The Grandfather Clock outside the kitchen chimes two times when we pile out of Mikey's bedroom to fix ourselves some breakfast. My stomach groans, and Mikey chuckles. "Bob, fix us some food."

He scoffs. "Fuck off. I can't cook. Get Ray to."

"I can't cook—you guys _know_ that." We all reminisce over the time Ray tried to cook us something to eat. He was fixing us grilled cheese sandwiches with the cheese still in the plastic covering. Needless to say, we made him talk to the firefighter while the rest of us went to McDonald's to get a meal that wouldn't be burnt.

I'm still smiling at the mere memory when I feel Bob nudge me into the wall. "Hey, you can cook."

I peel myself from the wall, pretending to dust myself off. "No, dude, I can't."

"Yeah, you can. You're a girl, well, _part_ girl anyway, you little fag."

Everybody laughs, and I stand there, frowning. I give in and walk into the kitchen with pancakes on my mind. The strange thing is that four plates of pancakes are already set around the table with a bottle of maple syrup in the middle. We stand by the doorway, our eyes narrowed. Mikey tries to take a step in, but Bob puts a hand on his chest. "No, wait. I think _he_ made it."

Mikey slowly nods, returning to Bob's side. "Right."

I chew on my lip. "What's the big deal? So what if Gerard made it?"

Ray's eyes nearly shoot out of his skull. "He could've poisoned us, man!"

"Yeah, get your act together!" Bob exclaims, jokingly slapping me across the cheek.

I grumble, push him aside, and start into the room. I glance around, furrowing my brow. The rest of them follow me with cautious steps. "I wonder where he is," Ray mutters a little too loudly.

"Up your butt." Bob chuckles.

I roll my eyes and take a seat at the end of the table. I pick up a fork and poke at the pancake. The others watch me with enlarged eyes as I take a small bite. I look over at them. "I don't get what your guys' big deal is. They taste good."

The tense atmosphere seems to fly out the window. Mikey takes a seat across from me, and Bob and Ray sit down on the sides of the table. They all begin to eat, and then it dawns on me—where's Gerard?

It seems Bob can read minds because at that moment, he slams down his fork and throws suspicious glances around the room. "Where is that little freak?"

"Right here!"

We all jump when Gerard appears to come out from under the table. He stands beside Bob, looking down at him with a big smile. "Do you like the pancakes?!" he asks rather excitedly as he jumps up and down on his heels.

Bob stares ahead. He grips his fork. I can tell he wants to dig it into Gerard's neck.

I study Gerard. He's dressed in the same clothes I saw him in last night. His hair is still messed up, stuck up in random places in the back. His lips are even a faint purple color, like a thin layer of bruise is shielding them. I begin to wonder how I look. I touch my own mouth, noticing how my lips are tender to the touch. I watch him glance at me, smile even more, lick his lips. He looks back down at Bob, lightly touches his shoulder. "Do you like the food?"

Bob's eye twitches.

Gerard doesn't seem affected. He sits down on his knees and continues talking to Bob.

"I just woke up this morning—well, I didn't wake up since, y'know, I didn't fall asleep _at all_ —anyway, I just walked in here, and I was, like, I'm gonna do something nice for all them since I made them all shit their pants last night by playing that totally awesome game, and the first thing that popped up in my mind was pancakes!" He grabs Bob's arm, then, and goes on to start shaking him as he continues talking. "So, yeah, I was, like, I'm gonna make some motherfuckin' pancakes! And that's what I did. I mean, like, I'm really sorry for scaring all of you last night, and I just wanted you guys to know that, and I kinda already made it up to Frank"—I shoot him a glance, and he quickly changes the subject—"what the fuck am I even saying? I think I had a bad dream with Frank in it. I don't know. Wait, I didn't even dream at all because, y'know, I didn't go to bed. I just sat on my bed and drank coffee every hour, on the hour." He hysterically giggles and starts shaking Bob even more. "Isn't that funny?! I think I'm going to write a song about that." He laughs some more before falling onto his side, rolling under the table.

Bob lets out a frustrated breath. "Why did he hold onto me?"

Mikey shrugs. "He's weird."

Ray nods. "I wonder why he hasn't killed himself yet."

I try my hardest not to punch each of their faces. I turn my head downward and start picking at the pancake.

I see Bob kick at Gerard under the table. "Why didn't you kill yourself yet?"

Gerard's back up at the surface in a matter of minutes. His hands go onto Bob's face, pulling him inward as he sets his mouth on the brim of his ear. "Well, you see, Bob, I don't have my gun since my little brother took it from me." I watch his fingernails dig into Bob's cheeks, his chin. "But, but, but I still have my bullets, so that won't stop me from dragging you into my bedroom and shoving them down your throat." He actually bites at Bob's ear before pushing him away, making the chair tip over and land on its side, Bob joining it on the floor. Gerard straightens up, then, and looks at each of us. "Now, is there anything I can get you guys?" He sweetly smiles, and my heart just melts.

Mikey and Ray stare at each other, push their plates away, and start up the stairs. Bob follows suit after he picks himself up from the floor. That leaves Gerard and me in the kitchen all alone, and I can feel the sexual tension between us.

I gaze at him with narrowed eyes as he slowly lowers his head to the ground, kicking at it. I start to wonder if our relationship will ever be anything more than physical intimacy. I stop thinking and look down at the food. It suddenly looks unappetizing. "Do you want me to help you clean this up?" I ask softly, setting my fork on my plate.

He raises his head, and I can the edges around his eyes turn red. He opens his mouth to say something, but he quickly closes his mouth and just nods. He gives me a soft smile afterward. I present him one back before getting up from my seat and picking up the plates of uneaten pancakes.

Our cleaning only takes a few minutes, and after, we sit on one of the counters, passing a mug of hot chocolate back and forth. I'm holding it right now as I hear Gerard start to cry. I look over at him and wrap a free arm around his waist. I don't say a word. I give him the cup of warm liquid. He mutters his thanks before taking a sip. He looks over at me, his brow furrowed. "I don't understand why your friends are so mean. I mean, aren't people supposed to be nice to the mentally ill?" He takes another drink while I try to think up of an excuse for their behavior. I don't come up with any. He sighs. "I know I'm crazy, and… well… I figured I scare people, but… they shouldn't be so mean."

I tighten my hold on his waist. "You told Bob you were going to shove bullets down his throat."

"That was for self-defense." I smile. He hands me back the cup and sniffs. "I'm just glad you didn't join them to keep up your reputation. I don't want them being mean to you all because you're dating me." He scoots closer to my body. He raises a leg up and stretches it on top of mine, draping it across my lap. He looks up at me. "You're my first boyfriend," he murmurs.

"I've dated people before, but you're my first _boy_ friend." I take a drink. "So, Gerard," I begin. I rub his side. "Was what you did earlier really for self-defense, or is there a deeper meaning?"

He holds out his hands, and I give him the mug. He cradles it, pulls it to his mouth. He rests his lips against the brim. "Well, not _really_. It's more of a defense mechanism. I put up this hyperactive… persona, you could say." He shrugs. "It just helps the scared, depressed little boy stay inside, so he won't get damaged as badly."

I tilt my head. "You were crying."

He raises a finger. "I said 'as badly'. I still get hurt, but it doesn't affect me as much until I'm alone or… within the presence of someone I feel comfortable around, who I trust, who I"—he lifts his other leg up, draping that one across my lap, too—"feel a close, emotional, intimate bond with." His ankles cross.

I laugh. "Gerard, you haven't known me for that long. Why are you so suddenly to jump to telling me you love me, but with all intelligent, fancy words?"

His mouth turns into a small smile. "I've known you for a while, Frank. You just haven't exactly opened your eyes to the world and seen me watching you from the sidelines." He takes a sip at the hot chocolate, leaving me to think over this new information.

I look at him, set a hand on his knee. "You've been watching me." It's a statement, but he still nods like it's a question. A shiver crawls up my spine, and I look off to the side. "For how long?"

"For as long as I remember."

"That's weird shit, man."

"I'm weird."

"I am, too."

He tilts his head, raises an eyebrow. "Why do you say that?"

"Because I'm dating you."

He smiles, giggles, sips at the hot chocolate. He hands it to me, but I shake my head.

"Are my lips bruised? Yours are."

He touches his mouth. "Really?" He stares at me. "And yours aren't—"

" _Thank God._ "

"—yet."

"Huh."

He laughs. "Your lips aren't bruised yet."

I don't have time to react.

He drops the mug of hot chocolate to the floor and jumps on me, causing us both to lose our balance and fall onto the hard floor of the kitchen.

My head lands somewhere by the puddle of liquid, and I can feel it seep into my hair. Gerard's fingers join the beverage as he straddles me and tries to push himself into my mouth. I slowly wrap my arms around his waist, holding him close as I try to push him out with my tongue, and I think I'm successful for a moment, but then I realize that he's fucking crying again.

I let our lips detach, and I look up at him, studying his face, trying to figure out why he's crying. I'm about to ask, but he eats away the question by gently kissing me, completely changing the tone of the room. The sexual tension is replaced by a calming, close feeling, and at that moment, I know that Gerard needs me in his life in more than one way—not just physically, but also emotionally. He thinks of me as a type of person that can help him through anything, and I even find my throat constricting at these thoughts.

I raise up off the ground, feeling hot chocolate drip off the strands of black in my hair. I scoot across the floor, pressing my back against a counter. I pull him into my lap, and we hold onto each other, kissing more. I want to laugh at him, tell him that my lips won't be getting bruised by this type of mouth-to-mouth contact, but I'm interrupted by a loud gasp and something getting thrown at us.

We pull apart. I look down and find that a fork was tossed at us, and Bob, Ray, and Mikey are in the room with us. I hear Gerard let out a scared, almost barely audible whimper before taking hold of the fork, tightly gripping it. He growls, and I watch as Bob and the other two take a step back, going back over to the opposite side of the room. "You sick fuck," Bob says, shaking his head in disappointment at me.

I know that insult isn't toward Gerard, but to me, and I can't feel prouder, and I don't know why. I protectively hold Gerard, and he does the same. "Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?" I ask sternly. I narrow my eyes at them.

Bob laughs. "Not really, but you do know that tomorrow, at school, we will continue to make fun of you for being with the freak."

Gerard's fingernails dig into my shoulders. He growls once more, baring his teeth. It sounds so animalistic that I think the French bulldog is actually in here, making those sounds, instead of a mentally disturbed nineteen year old. "Get out of my house. I don't want you here anymore."

Bob only laughs, and I can see Mikey take a step from the wall. He seems so awkward as he picks at his nails. "Bob's not leaving, Gerard."

Gerard pounds at the ground with his fists, and he jumps up from my lap, crawling over to the three of them like a feline. "Why not? I want him to leave!" He arches his back, hisses.

Mikey breaks out of his shell and smacks the side of Gerard's face so roughly his head snaps to the side with a loud crack. "He's not leaving, Gerard. The only people leaving are going to be you and Frank." My eyes widen in shock. "I want you to go to your room, Gerard, and don't come back up until Mom and Dad come home."

Gerard's back arches again, and he lets out a loud cry. He reaches out, beating at Mikey's legs, yelling. He continues to screech as he crawls over to his bedroom door, opening it and throwing himself down the stairs. I hear him start throwing shit around and screaming out profane words and explicitly stated, gory phrases. I look over at Mikey, blinking. "What was that—?"

Mikey cuts me off. "Get your shit together and leave. I don't want you here anymore."

I obey, and as I walk past him, he returns back into his softer, nicer self. "I'm sorry, Frank. It's just that… I don't want you getting hurt by Gerard. He's a _retard_."

"Fuck off. He isn't to me."


	5. Chapter 5

"It's dysphoric mania," I hear Mikey mumble to Ray and Bob during study hall. I'm pressed against a bookshelf in the library, my head slightly tilted to the side, trying to hear them all a bit better. I nibble on my lip. I know they're talking about Gerard.

"That sounds about right," Bob says. "It sounds fucking weird, and the person that has it is fucking weird, too."

My fingers curl into a fist.

"But what is it?" Ray cuts in, and I can tell he's being more discreet than Bob with talking about Gerard. "Dysphoric mania? That can't be just by itself, can it?"

Mikey's voice lowers, and I have to lean over more to hear him. "I think it's something to do with bipolar disorder. I'm not really sure. Mom just took him to the hospital today."

Bob laughs. "Good. He needs to stay there."

"He's coming home today, Bob. He doesn't need to stay there."

"Oh, right. He needs to stay in an asylum."

Mikey is silent, and I want to step out from behind the tall bookshelf and scream at them at the top of my lungs. Instead, I frown and slowly slide down to the floor. I pull my knees to my chest, hiding my face in them.

It's been more than several weeks since Mikey, Ray, and Bob have decided to not be my friends anymore, but I can tell Mikey regrets it. He's been talking to me during the classes where we're alone, and he's even started to talk to me about Gerard, about how he always cries and yells out my name during odd hours of the night. That makes me smile.

But always, whenever Bob or Ray is around, he joins their side and starts throwing insults at me.

"Sick fuck."

"Freak."

"Retard-lover."

"I hope you die."

"Just go off and kill yourself."

"Yeah, go be with Gerard. You guys can kill yourselves together."

The last one hurt a lot.

I rub at my eyes and stand up from the ground when the bell rings, telling us to head to our fourth periods. I step out from the bookcase and absentmindedly follow my ex-friends to math class.

Through all the chatter and locker doors slamming, I catch the end of their conversation when they turn into the classroom.

"—yeah, I find it sad. I mean, he's tried to so many times. Mom and Dad finally took his gun and sold it someplace. Well, that's what they told him."

"Do you think he'll find it, though? He found it when you took it."

"I want that dumbass to kill himself—one less retard in the world."

After Bob's rude comment, tears prick at my eyes, and Mikey turns around just in time to see me wipe them away. He frowns and nudges Bob in the ribs with his elbow. Bob curses and looks over his shoulder. He studies me with a small smile on his face. "Hey there, pansy retard-lover."

Mikey rolls his eyes, and Ray even disapprovingly looks at him. "Bob, seriously."

"What?"

I shake my head and walk out of the classroom, not bothering to ever come back.

*

The sky is a pretty gray whenever I step onto the Way's property that night. I slowly take a deep breath before walking over to the front door, lightly knocking on it. I wait for a few moments, and the door opens soon after, revealing Gerard. He's in skinny jeans and a plain black tee. He smiles at me. "Hi, Frank."

I nod and glance around the yard, and then inside the house. "Hello. Um, where's everybody else?" I ask, acknowledging how it seems his parents' car's gone and how the house appears to be empty.

Gerard shrugs. "They went out to eat. I pretended to be asleep when they came down to my room to ask if I was coming with them." He nibbles on his lip and backs up. "Please, come in."

I go inside and let him close the door behind me. "Why'd you invite me over?" I ask, even if I already know the reason.

He takes hold of my hand, and I feel a soft, overwhelming sadness in my heart, then. He stares at me with delicate hazel eyes before leading me downstairs to his room, letting the bedroom door stay open.

Inside his room, it smells like coconut shampoo. I smile at the scent, and I watch him smile, too. He looks over at me, lifts me up, and presses my back against the bed covers, straddling my hips, tangling his fingers into the hair at the back of my head, and gently kissing me.

I hold onto his back, pressing us closer. "Gerard," I murmur on his lips. I bite at them. "I love you."

"I love you."

A weight's lifted off my chest. I feel a bit pleasant, but I know I'll feel much better later on.

We pull apart and slide off the bed, going to sit down on the floor in front of his bed, right where the first game of Russian Roulette was played.

That one ended terribly.

This one will end beautifully.

Gerard reaches out to grab onto my hand again. Our fingers intertwine, and I look up at Gerard, my eyes enlarging when he puts his free hand to his skinny jeans pocket. "I wrote out the note," he mumbles, and he slowly pulls it out, handing it to me.

I unfold it the best I can with one hand. I read over the three lines, a sad smile going over my face. I raise my head, and the only thing I can bring myself to do is nod. I give the note to him to take again. "Who's going to hold it?"

He slips it out of my fingers. "We both are." He folds it up into the neat, little square again before placing it between our palms. I press our hands closer together. I feel the paper slide against our skin.

We stay in silence for a minute or two, just looking down at our hand and glancing at each other. I take a deep breath and firmly nod. "Do you have it?"

He nods back.

"Is it filled?"

He nods again.

"Good." I close my eyes. "I've never been surer of anything in my life, Gerard."

"Now, you know how I feel, Frank, all the time." He leans in, matching our lips together. "Everything'll be better soon."

I believe him. I scoot closer. "I don't know why people are so mean."

"They just don't understand. They're harsh people. They don't want to let people like us into their minds, their hearts. They think we're freaks."

I close my eyes, shiver. "Is it true that you have—?"

"Yes. Mikey told you?"

"Not really. I overheard him tell Bob and Ray."

Gerard mumbles something under his breath. He softly kisses my mouth. "I'm sorry, Frank."

"No, no, it's fine. I _want_ to do this. I want to be with you."

We smash our lips together for the last time before pulling apart and sitting back in our original spots, our hands still clasped tightly together.

I swallow, and my heart pops in my chest when I see Gerard pull the revolver from under his bed. He glances at me, checking to make sure I'm okay with this, and I return the stare, giving him a firm nod. I am okay with this. I can't handle any of this anymore, and I know Gerard can't either. What else can we do? There's no other way out.

I watch him spin the cylinder around with a twitch of his thumb. I hardly know why, but I don't question him, like how I don't question how he had managed to get his gun back. Gerard has his ways.

He looks up at me once more, and he blinks. "I've tried this so many times, and I've never been successful."

I give his hand a squeeze, and the paper cuts into my palm. "You will be tonight. I know you will be, Gerard, darling."

This is all the support he needs to bring his drastic decision to the edge.

He slowly raises his arm, resting the barrel of the gun on his temple. He stares at me the whole time. He taps the trigger, mouths three sweet words, and then pulls.

I don't blink, which some people might find strange. I stare transfixed on his face, studying the way his eyes stay large and bright through it all, even when the bullet cracks out of the other side of his skull, covering me from head to toe in a shower of blood and brain.

I blink, then, as he stays upright for a while, his eyes still wide open. I begin to think he's still alive, but he slowly begins to fall on his side. His shoulder breaks the fall, and he ends up leaning against the bed, his head resting against the metal rails on the footboard.

I stare at him for a few moments, squeezing his hand, noticing how it's still warm. I know that won't stay like this for long, so I reach over and slip the gun out of his hands, staring at it. I raise it to my temple, the rapid heartbeat in my chest slowly dropping, knowing what I'm going to do is final, and I'm completely ecstatic about that.

I keep my eyes on Gerard, and I swear he's watching me, too. I laugh softly, squeeze his hand, hearing the paper in our hands squish a bit, making it mix together with the blood that's on our hands. I take a deep breath, smile, and mouth back the equivalent of those three words he had told me.

I pull the trigger.

*

When the Way family pulled up into the driveway to their house, they hardly thought anything strange or depressing would soon be dropped onto them. All they did was pile out of their car, talk and laugh about what had happened at the restaurant they were at a few minutes ago, and step into the house.

Then, they were all quiet, sensing that something was off, but they couldn't quite put their finger on it.

Donald went upstairs to check their bedrooms, thinking somebody had broken in.

Donna Lee went outside to look up at the windows and the roof, thinking a rock was possibly thrown in to aide the robbery.

Mikey went straight to his brother's bedroom, thinking that it was weird to find his brother's bedroom door open.

A loud scream erupted, and the parents rushed down into the basement. They were soon met with the sight of a crime scene, but this was no crime scene. They knew that, but they had to think of something else. They didn't want to believe their eldest son and his boyfriend had killed themselves.

They stood over their bodies for a while, scraping away a part of a brain from their faces, wanting to really check if it was the two they had predicted earlier, and it was.

They continued to brush blood and insides off them, trying to fight back tears. While they were cleaning up, Mikey dropped down to the bodies, pausing to look at each of their faces. He thought it was odd that their eyes were still open, and it seemed they were staring at each other. Mikey shook his head in disgust and tried to push their eyelids down, but they had fluttered back up to continue staring at their loved one forever.

When his parents went up to call an ambulance and Frank's parents, Mikey couldn't help but wonder why their hands were together, and after he had managed to pull their hands apart, he saw a note. He quickly snatched it up and ran back upstairs.

Now, Frank's parents are over, and they and Mikey's parents are sobbing in a corner, shaking their heads and yelling out shouts of question, of grief. Mikey's planning on joining them, but the note he had just read is still burned in his mind, and he doesn't think it'll be going away in a long time.

He wants to throw it away, but he can't bring himself to it, so he just lays it on the coffee table in a crumpled ball, gets up, and walks over to his parents, letting his mother hug him as they grieve for the loss of their son, and in Mikey's case, his brother.

The living room the two families are in gets surprisingly colder, but no one takes notice of this. They also don't pay attention to two small giggles by the coffee table. The crushed up paper on the coffee table slowly unfolds, revealing itself to the world. The two giggling spirits want others to know why they decided to end their life. They knew Mikey would have just hid it, not tell anyone about it, and they want to prevent that.

So, they slowly spread out the note on the table, and one of them scratches at the table's surface, getting everybody's attention. Two high-pitched laughs are heard once more before the room grows warm again.

The families of the late teens take a step toward the table, gazing at the note, trying to read it, and Mikey attempts to jump out, goes to take it and crumble it once more, but his father grabs his wrist, pulls him back.

The tone of the room completely changes when they read the note, and they don't know if it's for the better or the worse. The only two people extremely giddy about the current situation are outside in the front yard, casting silhouettes as they dance across the front of the house whenever a car's headlights pass.

Frank's mother stops by the window, a frustrated look on her face. She looks out the glass pane to see a shadow of two boys dancing around the front yard, going into each other arms and spinning. She hears a giggle again, and when she narrows her eyes to take a closer look at the people outside, they're gone. She shakes her head and walks away from the window, shivering.

Mikey sits back down on the couch, gnawing at his lips. He feels incredibly guilty for all of this, but he doesn't want to speak up. He knows Gerard and Frank are in a better place now. He looks back down at the suicide letter one more time before smiling and standing up, going into the kitchen to fix himself some coffee, in memory of his brother.

*

_We shouldn't be judged because of the people we love while living._

_True love only exists when you're dead._

_xoxo, g + f._


End file.
